


The Long Waning

by dreamkist



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Ficlet, Ghosts, Gothic, Haunting, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27173125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamkist/pseuds/dreamkist
Summary: Edith always managed to make her way back to Crimson Peak.
Relationships: Edith Cushing & Lucille Sharpe, Edith Cushing/Thomas Sharpe
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	The Long Waning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unsainted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsainted/gifts).



A year had passed since that fateful day at Crimson Peak. After the inquiry, she needed to retrieve what things of hers remained. Alan had offered to make the journey with her, but she wouldn’t allow it. It was her goodbye to deliver.

As the carriage brought her closer to her destination a strange sense of relief filled Edith. The dark house loomed in the stark landscape. She watched Thomas’ machine, somewhat sunken into the clay yet still standing, clank in the wind as she rode by.

“Are you sure about staying there, miss?” the driver asked after he opened the door for her.

Edith assured him her mind was made up.

The door let out a deafening creak as she pushed it open and exposed the innards of Allerdale Hall. She had forgotten how cold the house was and pulled her cloak tight. The cold was harsh, but she didn’t mind.

The house let loose one of its groans. Then the heavy strains of Lucille’s piano echoed through the hall. Edith froze for a moment, stricken by memories of the woman. She quickly gathered her resolve and turned back to the library.

There the familiar figure sat playing. She paid no mind to Edith as her fingers moved in old rhythms. After Edith saw the ghost would make no notice of her presence, she relaxed. All Lucille had wanted were two things, and now she had them forever.

That night, Edith closed the bedroom door. It stuck a little in the frame, and she had to exert some force to close it. Blessedly, the continual sound of Chopin no longer reached her.

**+ ++**

Edith awoke with a start. She was covered in sweat and she peeled the bedclothes away as she sat up. She could have sworn she heard the trailing notes of a piano. Though it was quite warm where she was, she remembered how cold Crimson Peak would be at that time.

With her excuses made, a manuscript in need of much work, Edith was again able to travel to the house that always occupied a place in her mind. There was an undeniable draw to the house despite her past there. She did not fear anything to be found there.

Edith wrote and the ghost played.

**+ ++**

Lucille wasn’t at her piano. The break in Lucille’s routine disturbed her. Edith put her bag down and wandered the house in some trepidation.

She heard the faint sound of rattling metal. She followed it to the kitchen where Lucille’s ghost stood before the cupboard. Edith wasn’t sure how long she stood there observing the ghost, but she was startled when it turned and began to walk toward her. She instinctively stepped back from the approaching ghost but decided to hold her ground. She felt colder as it neared.

The ghost simply walked by her, with its keys tinkling.

Edith adapted to this new activity. Lucille sat at her piano and played until some unknown signal told her to stand and make her way through the house. She followed a vague pattern: library to foyer to kitchen, up the stairs to the third floor, and in the morning back to the library.

Lucille walked. She played and she walked.

**+ ++**

During the day the scratch of Edith’s pen mingled with the piano. They worked in tandem, both absorbed in their tasks.

The bedroom door no longer closed. It remained ajar all through the night but no visitors slipped inside.

**+ ++**

The heat from the library’s large fireplace warmed Edith as she considered her next words. A familiar sound drew her attention away from the paper before her.

“Hello, Lucille.” Edith had taken to sometimes speaking to her companion. Not that she ever received any hint of acknowledgment.

So Edith was surprised when Lucille stopped in her path and looked at a point beyond Edith. Edith turned and caught a glimpse of the wispy remnants of a ghost. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She knew who it had been.

“Why doesn’t he stay?” she asked Lucille who resumed her walk.

**+ ++**

Since Edith became aware of Thomas’ lingering, she hoped to see him, but he was reticent to make himself known as opposed to Lucille’s presence was strong.

Lucille stood before her. She didn’t look directly at Edith, but it was clear she wanted her attention. Edith followed her up the stairs to the third floor. While the rest of the house still managed to feel lived in, the attic seemed to have decayed at a quicker pace. The roof was open to the elements, and the automatons Thomas had made were damaged by rain. But it was the figure slumped on a stool that captured Edith’s attention.

Lucille left them alone.

**+ ++**

Years passed.

Edith always managed to make her way back to Crimson Peak. She could never fully explain why she went there. She only knew it was a place to indulge sadness and loneliness with others who understood the darkness.

Edith wrote, Lucille lingered, and sometimes they were graced by Thomas’ presence. Then Edith left them to their haunting until her return.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _[BLACKENED SUNFLOWERS, WHITE MOTHS](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=39625)_


End file.
